


On Funerals and Nostalgia

by beformista



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book: Monstrous Regiment, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Funeral, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Umbrella Academy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beformista/pseuds/beformista
Summary: On the 5th of November Lord Nuggan had died. That hadn't been important for anyone other than the eight girls that he brought to his house when they were just babies and raised, with help of the Duchess - a plastic artificial intelligence tasked with being their mother, a task she mostly failed at, and Jackrum, who was as sympathetic as a person can be when expressing an emotion seems as revolting to them as swallowing a live frog. Lord Nuggan died quietly, in his home, surrounded by some members of his adopted family that didn't really care for the fact either.
Relationships: Maladict/Polly "Ozzer" Perks
Kudos: 4





	On Funerals and Nostalgia

On the 5th of November Lord Nuggan had died. That hadn't been important for anyone other than the eight girls that he brought to his house when they were just babies and raised, with help of the Duchess - a plastic artificial intelligence tasked with being their mother, a task she mostly failed at, and Jackrum, who was as sympathetic as a person can be when expressing an emotion seems as revolting to them as swallowing a live frog. Lord Nuggan died quietly, in his home, surrounded by some members of his adopted family that didn't really care for the fact either. 

Still, they'd sent letters to the others. That was the proper thing to do, after all. That is why, on the 7th of November, Polly stood in front of the gates and stared at the huge ugly house for a total of seven minutes before going in.

It was just as she remembered. Ugly posh furniture that was probably only comfortable if you had nobby blood in your veins. The portrait of the Duchess on the wall that seemed to follow you with her eyes. Maybe, she did, actually, Polly wouldn't put it past Nuggan to place a spying device in his living room. Even the dust looked as if it stayed there, each particle in the exact position it was the day Polly left, vowing to never return.

And then, of course, there was Maladicta.

"Surprised you decided to show up." She was lounging on the couch, the way only Maladicta could lounge, with a phone in her hand that she didn't take her eyes off and what seemed like three cups of coffee on the table in front of her. She slowly raised one and very pointedly took a very big sip.

"Jackrum sent a letter," said Polly.

"Hm." The cup was back on the table. Maladicta finally looked at Polly with a weird twisted smirk on her lips. "So did I."

Polly swallowed. There wasn't really anything you could say to that, was there? Saying it didn't reach her, which was true, would only sound pathetic and most probably like a lie. "I'll go see Mother," she said instead.

"She's broken," said Maladicta shortly, her smirk dropping. She raised the cup to her lips again and gulped down the rest of the coffee. "She hasn't moved an inch or said a word the last five years. Wozzer's the only one who keeps talking to her, gods know why." With a strange gleam in the eyes and another, vicious, smirk, she suggested, "but you're free to check for yourself, of course."

Polly nodded and went forward. She only took a few steps when a door behind her opened and Jackrum suddenly appeared in the corridor.

"Perks," they half-said half-barked. Polly turned around and stood at attention. "Glad to have you here," Jackrum continued, only partially losing the illusion that they were a sergeant barking orders at a soldier.

'Yessir! Glad to be here, sir!' was on the tip of Polly's tongue. With some difficulty, she swallowed the urge to yell the words as an obedient little private.

"I wanted to talk to Mom," she said instead. "Before... well, before the funeral."

Jackrum frowned. "Wozzer's talking to her now," they said. 

Polly stepped from foot to foot. "Well... then I..."

"Shufti's in the kitchen making tea and whatever else she's making," Jackrum sighed and took pity on her. 

Polly answered with a small grateful smile. "Right." Jacrkum nodded to her and kept moving down the corridor when Polly had another thought, "hey, uh... what's with Mal and coffee?"

Jackrum looked at her over the shoulder. "The girl's gotta fixate on something," she said with a shrug, "better coffee than vodka."

Polly hummed and kept going. 

Once she reached the kitchen, it took her only two second to remember why she didn't like the place. Ever since Shufti grew old enough to figure out she liked cooking, for whatever reason, this was her domain. The tentacles growing from her stomach were pushing into the ground, letting her raise her body as high as she needed and reached all the high shelves. She had no less than five pots on the counter with something being stirred and brewed and seasoned. 

"Sugar!" she swore under her breath. "Of course there's no salt." 

Polly high-tailed it out of there before being noticed and moved towards the room she steadfastly refused to contemplate ever since entering the house.

Nobody seemed to have touched her things. At least, there was that. She walked to a mirror hanging opposite her wall with a bedside table under it, opened a drawer, opened a secret compartment, opened a secret compartment inside a secret compartment. The locks of her hair she cut when she thought that this was a form of revolt still were there, as was the picture taken the same day, of her and Mal hugging each other and laughing.

"Feeling nostalgic, huh?" asked Maladicta, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Polly refused to flinch at her voice and calmly closed the secret compartment, closed the second secret compartment, closed the drawer and turned to Mal. 

"Are Lofty and Tonker coming?"

Mal shrugged and took a step forward into the room. "Lofty's wanted again for burning something. Her and Tonker's on the run."

Polly let out a short laugh. "I'll take that as a yes, then. Are your police friends giving you trouble for covering for them?"

Polly turned towards a mirror again and looked at her tired face and at over-alert eyes on Mal's that was suddenly just above her shoulder. Coffee would do that to you. "Have you missed me at all?" asked Mal.

"Of course, I did. But I couldn't expect you to abandon everything and run away with me. You're Number One."

Mal was silent. Polly turned around, with some difficulty, what with how Mal was pressing her towards the bedside table. It didn't feel bad, though. She almost enjoyed it. 

"Well, you've never fucking asked, did you," said Mal.

In the silence that followed Polly could hear people moving all around the house. Felt almost like old times. 

"Kiss me," she said.

A weird twisted smirk appeared on Mal's lips, but Polly didn't quite notice. She was watching her eyes. That's what you had to do with Mal, always. "You haven't deserved it yet," heard Polly, and then Mal stepped back. "They're waiting for us in the garden."

On the 7th of November Lord Nuggan was buried in the garden of his ancestral home. There weren't many nice words said about him, his adopted little family rather felt like keeping silence, except for Wozzer, who somehow always found good words to say about her family, even in the most desperate of times. While she was talking, the rain had started, and overall, it was quite a miserable affair. But in the way Mal held Polly's hand in hers, she felt some hope.


End file.
